Then Somebody Bends
by sugarquillscribbles
Summary: The girl is insufferable. Her captor is positively infuriating. Will their interactions ever become more than shouting matches? Perhaps an attempted escape will change things. Could either of them learn to bend? Focusing more on the friendship between these two, and casting some light on things that were left vague in the movie. Rated T, just in case.
1. Chapter 1

In the past, whenever Belle had taken the time to indulge a silly, girlish fantasy (fantasies that usually sprang to life after reading a particularly compelling adventure/romance novel), she typically imagined a man's sturdy hand helping her to her feet. The hand that had taken hers earlier had not even been that of a human. It was a paw. Not the neat, lithe paw of a cat or the sturdy little foot of a forest mouse, but a massive paw that was over twice the size of her hand. Claws as long as her pinky finger extended from every toe, and Belle eyed them cautiously as she approached the creature curled up in the grand chair by the fireplace.

She said creature in her mind, but perhaps that wasn't the word for him anymore. The beast had, after all, just committed the very charitable act of saving her life. He lay in the wide, sturdy-backed chair, half-curled and wounded. His tongue scraped against the ragged flesh of his wound as he avoided her eyes. His right arm had been torn nearly to shreds by the wolves that had come close to killing her, and the flesh looked angry and agonized.

Belle had almost left him there to die. Would have been glad to do it, even, and get on with her life. If she hadn't come back here, she might have been back home with Papa right now. She might not once again be a prisoner. She might have been able to forget that this whole catastrophe had ever happened. So why had she come back? Certainly, this castle was grander than any place she'd ever lived, even if it was imposing and largely empty. She and Papa had traveled from small, leaky homes wherever they could find them. They were cramped and somewhat neglected-looking, but they were also warm and happy. She had never felt like a prisoner there. An outcast with the common folk, surely, but wherever she and Papa lived, it was a place filled with love.

She had none of that here. She most likely never would.

The beast-she realized with a start that she didn't know his name, or even if he had a name-had shown her nothing but surliness, rage, and cruelty. So why had she given him mercy? Perhaps, in that brief moment where he had lain nearly dead in the snow, she had seen something that reminded her of herself. There had been something, a look in his exhausted face that spoke of startling fear, a raw vulnerability. And the words he had spoken…

The wolves had vanished, either dead or long gone with the sense to realize that a fight with the beast was one that could not be won. Belle had slowly, achingly gotten to her feet-while it was happening, she had felt like a ghost looking on, but now her body was quickly remembering the hell it had just endured. She was painfully cold, her palms burning from where she had lain weakly in the snow. Walking over to where Philippe was still trapped in the dangling limbs of a snow-burdened tree, she spoke soft murmurs of comfort and managed to free her horse.

Belle had been terrified when the beast had first appeared, sure that he would drag her back to the castle and torture her for disobeying their agreement or simply kill her and save himself the trouble of her rebellion. But neither thing had happened; no, instead the beast had let out a enraged bellow and flung himself into the writhing mass of wolves. The air had soon been thick with pained screams and flashes of fur, and she could only watch as bones were snapped and claws scrambled frantically in the upturned snow. He had crouched in front of her, snarling, shielding her from the carnage.

It made absolutely no sense.

Leading Philippe now that he was untangled and a bit calmer, she had circled around to face the beast where he he was dead or close to it. She hesitated to close the distance any further; he was quiet and still now, but that didn't make his fangs any less sharp. Belle recalled the moment that two braver wolves had pounced on the beast, eliciting a sharp cry of pain as her captor's blood fell to mix with the blood of their own kind.

Looking at him now, Belle could easily see where the damage had been done. A fine trickle of blood came from a gash above his brow, but the worst damage was that to his forearm, which he must have flung up as an instinctive defense from the wolves. It was a gruesome sight; the wound made her stomach churn. If blood loss from that didn't kill him soon, the cold surely would.

This was her perfect opportunity to leave. If she just rode Philippe away right now and never looked back, she could forget about all this. She could get home to Papa-she prayed that he had made it home safe and sound-and act like she hadn't endured this bizarre and miserable life for the past few weeks. The servants had all treated her with kindness, but they were so afraid of their master that they didn't often get a chance to show it.

Freedom was in her hands now, and she wasn't about to turn her nose up at it. Yes, the beast had saved her life, but he'd made every moment before it a nightmare. Belle gave her horse an encouraging pat and tried to figure out which direction could possibly lead her home. Could she make it home without catching her death of cold? She hoped so; to die here would be the ultimate irony.

Belle had taken her first step when a low sound came from behind her. Panic shot through her veins; her first instinct telling her to get away, she would surely be killed if the beast regained consciousness now. Whirling around with her heartbeat protesting, she saw that the beast had opened one eye tiredly. His gaze was unfocused and delirious, not quite gripping her.

He made no effort to move, nor did she. His mouth moved ever-so-slightly, but Belle couldn't make out if anything was being said. "B-beg pardon?" She asked uncertainly. Ever curious, she wondered what dying words the creature could possibly have. When had he ever said anything that hadn't been filled with venom, or shouted? Surely he would take his last moments to be cruel.

What the monster spoke next was something Belle would have never guessed to come from him, half-conscious or not. "Mother," he breathed. "I suppose you believe...that I deserve this...but I'm just happy...to see you again..." His eyes had fallen shut, and something like a faint smile twisted his grizzled face. Taken aback, all Belle could do was stare. That was as far from what she'd imagined as was possible.

An unexpected pang shot through her chest. How pitiful. He lay here, bleeding, dying, speaking to a mother who was not there. Belle guessed that she had not been for a long, long time. What had happened to her? Had she left the castle, unable to deal with the beast? Was she dead, like Belle's own mother? The thought of her mother made the feeling in her chest deepen and expand, like a knife being forced through her stomach and then twisted about. How very long it had been since Belle had seen her. If Belle herself had been lying on the biting cold snow, would her last words be to a mother that no longer lived?

Something in her crumpled. Kneeling down carefully, she called to Philippe and motioned for him to lie next to the beast. It took some persuading, but eventually the horse was positioned so that the beast might be able to clamber aboard. Belle couldn't imagine him being able to walk in this state. "Hello, er..." she began awkwardly. She'd never spoken to him before. "Please, get up. Mount my horse, I'll take you back to the castle now." There was no response.

Setting her nerves to hardened steel, Belle reached out a hand and shook the shoulder of the hulking creature. "Beast?" She tried again. He growled softly, eyes coming open and taking her in. He seemed to recognize her this time, and she wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. "Can you hear me? I'll take you back to the castle."

He stared at her for a long moment, and Belle questioned her compassion. "...Alright." He croaked finally, struggling to his feet. Moving back to allow him to climb atop Philippe, Belle heard him whine like a kicked dog as he tried to straighten himself. Attempting his first step, his legs buckled, and before Belle registered what she was doing, she realized she had reached out a hand to steady him. _It won't steady him any...more likely to drag me down into the snow, _Belle thought, but her hand remained extended.

Looking at it oddly, the beast paused only for a moment before grasping her hand in his. It felt very strange to Belle: like grasping the paw of a bear. It completely swallowed her hand, and the pad of his paw felt rough against her palm. He squeezed her hand lightly, appearing briefly fascinated, before coming to his senses and dropping her hand like it was a venomous snake. Looking away, he clambered onto Phillipe's back, slumping over in exhaustion to let the horse support his full weight.

They began the slow, mostly silent walk to the castle. Speaking only to let Belle know if the direction they were heading was correct or not, the beast said nothing more.

When the castle was at last within sight, Belle could have cried with relief. She felt frozen to the bone, and her fingers were tinged blue. She daydreamed about sitting in front of the fire for hours. When they reached the gates, the rusty things opened immediately, as if they had been anxiously awaiting their master's return. Even if the castle would never be a home to her, Belle moved as quickly as she could up the steps, longing for the warmth of the fireplace and her bed in the tower.

Behind her, the beast had dismounted Philippe gracelessly and was shuffling up the steps at a much slower pace. Pausing, Belle almost offered some sort of help (though she fully doubted she could support him anyway), but he'd brusquely uttered "Go. Leave me. It's fine." Bristling at his cold tone, she did exactly that.

The castle's warmth felt better than she ever could have imagined. Closing her eyes for a minute and simply allowing herself to be swallowed by it, she sighed. She was beaten and battered and nearly frozen to the core, but she would survive. Within seconds, the castle's servants were upon them, voices high with concern. What appeared to be normal furniture like coat racks and teacups and closets were actually living, breathing servants, things that spoke and moved and had personalities. It intrigued Belle to no end; how could it be possible?

In minutes, she had been ushered into the front room and made to sit in front of the fire. The beast settled himself carefully into his grand chair, and there he remained as Belle continued to ponder how the situation had changed. She supposed she was, once again, a prisoner. The thought weighed heavily on her, and she dreaded leaving her little refuge in front of the hearth and continuing on as she had for weeks before. Wandering the halls, always wary of encountering her captor. Always anticipating another outburst when he didn't get his way.

And sometimes...sometimes, he would simply be watching. Lurking around a corner and disappearing once she'd noticed him there. It was odd, and unsettling. The enraged yelling she at least understood, but this was another thing entirely. There didn't seem to be anything menacing or perverse about it-it wasn't like he was there when she'd just come out of the bath-but it unnerved Belle a little bit.

Now she was doing the same to him. He ignored her glance and licked gingerly at the wound on his forearm, wincing every so often without seeming to notice he was doing it. The beast was so bizarre; in some ways he acted just like an animal, but he also had some oddly human-like tendencies, just like his servants. In some ways, he was even more mysterious than them. Was he the only one of his kind? How was he capable of human speech? Why was he the master of an abandoned, dark castle with all these servants tending to him? Belle's curious mind positively ached to know. She imagined Papa was still pondering it, too, maybe even at the same moment she was.

Maybe that was what had compelled her to stand and approach the rolling table that had parked itself at the beast's side. Mrs. Potts perched there, carefully pouring piping hot water into a bowl. A fresh cloth lay nearby, and Belle had picked it up and dipped it within the boiling water without knowing exactly why she had done it. Facing the beast and bracing herself, Belle moved closer to his injured arm.

Instantly a low growl ripped past his lips, and his fur bristled. Clutching his arm closer, the beast pinned her with furious eyes, a silent warning to come no closer. Ignoring his theatrics, Belle commanded, "Hold still. This might sting a little." She pressed the rag to his arm. Roaring with pain, the beast jerked so violently away from her that he nearly fell from his chair.

"That hurts!" He shouted, glaring at her.

"If you'd hold still it wouldn't hurt as much!" Belle snapped.

"If you hadn't run away, this wouldn't have happened," the beast fired back.

"If you hadn't frightened me, I wouldn't have run away!"

"Well, you shouldn't have been in the West Wing." The beast looked smug, apparently thinking be had won the argument.

"Well, you should learn to control your temper!" Her last quip had wiped the smirk from his face, and he fell silent.

"Now hold still." Belle ordered, approaching again with the rag. "This will sting." She placed it hurriedly on his wound before the beast had a chance to get away again. "Agh-" he hissed, cringing away from her with teeth bared. But surprisingly, he had managed to stay put.

Feeling triumphant, Belle applied a little more pressure to the rag, deftly removing a significant amount of dried blood and dirt. The beast continued to growl under his breath, but made no more attempts to stop her from her work. "By the way," Belle began softly, feeling almost shy, "I wanted to thank you...for saving my life, I mean."

A surprised look crossed the beast's face. "You're welcome," he said slowly. "And thank you...for saving mine."

Not quite knowing what else to say, Belle murmured her own 'you're welcome' and continued to work on his wound. Before long, it looked devoid of all grime and old blood. The injury was still incredibly raw and painful looking, but it was at the least clean, and the beast was much less likely to develop infection now. Wrapping it in cloth, she let her busy hands drop at last. Out of thin air, the thought that she'd had earlier came back to her.

"Er, I've just realized something." Belle began, to get the beast's attention. He looked over at her, his eyes not appearing hostile for once; simply curious. "Eh?" "I don't know your name. Strange, isn't it?" Belle lifted the rag from his arm, where she had been checking the fur around his injury, and deposited it on the edge of the rolling table. She suddenly hadn't a clue as to what to do with her hands.

At first, she got no response. Had he even heard her? Was he simply being churlish? Then, he murmured something so quickly that she hadn't a hope of understanding it. "What was that?" The beast let out an irritated sigh. "Adam. My name is Adam." Belle was taken aback; it was such a normal-sounding name. "It's nice to meet you, then." She replied, though she wasn't entirely sure that she even meant it. "Likewise." The beast-er, Adam-said quietly.

He was perplexed. How long had it been since he had even thought of himself as Adam, let alone have someone call him by the name? No one in this castle had called him that in nearly ten years. His servants all referred to him as Master. His father had only ever called him "my son" or "young prince".

Even before, so long ago, no one had ever seemed to say his name, or remember he was more than heir to the throne. And now here was this infuriating girl saying it like it belonged on her tongue. He wasn't sure he could get used to it. But if the girl remained here as his prisoner, and insisted upon using that name...he supposed he would have to grow used to it again.

How strange, having a human in the castle. How strange, that he no longer thought of himself as one.

Belle soon withdrew back to the floor in front of the hearth, the warmth making her eyelids grow heavy. She tried to stay sitting upright, but exhaustion had a hard grip on her beaten body. Sinking onto the thick, lavish carpet and spreading out her skirts, Belle let sleep take her. At one point, she felt a servant spread a quilt over her, and she murmured something that she hoped was a proper thank you. How taxing the last few hours had been.

At some point in the night, Adam had taken his leave from the grand front room. Pausing for a moment to glance at Belle curled up in front of the hearth's dying embers, he decided that perhaps being around her didn't always have to be a struggle. Before this, they had only fought and screamed at one another, but maybe tonight had changed things.

He prowled the empty halls of the castle, nothing but the scratching of his claws against the floor meeting his ears. Perhaps things would be different now.

Perhaps.


	2. Chapter 2

"Bon coeur ne peut mentir." : The heart sees farther than the head.

When Belle awoke the next morning, the beast's-Adam's-chair was unoccupied. This was a relief; what would they say to each other upon sight? Whatever it was, it would undoubtedly be awkward. It was better that he was off somewhere, probably brooding and licking at his wound again despite how nicely she had wrapped it. Infuriating creature. She had always been uncomfortable making small talk, anyhow.

Sighing, Belle untangled herself from the makeshift nest she had slept in upon the floor. Things would most likely go back to the way they were before. Last night had been thrilling and terrifying, and she still ached deeply from it, but it had at least been a break from the norm. An adventure-not the kind of adventure she had ever pictured in her mind's eye, but an adventure nonetheless.

"Oh, no, Madame, leave it be. No toil should besot those delicate hands of yours!" A high voice behind her called out as she began to fold the quilt. Smiling, she called back, "Bonjour, Ansel. And this can hardly be called toil." Dodging the hat rack's attempts to take the blanket from her, Belle folded it neatly over her arms before setting it aside.

Ansel gave a clumsy bow. "As lovely and self sufficient as ever, Miss. Tell me, are you still pained from last night's...ah, excursion? Shall I have someone run you a hot bath?" Belle paused to consider; goodness, the idea sounded wonderful. But she shook her head. "Perhaps later. Is anyone awake in the kitchens? I'm simply ravenous." Ansel nodded eagerly, prongs bobbing up and down.

"The kitchen staff will be delighted to know that you've awoken. I will alert them at once, Madame!" With a series of spirited hops, Ansel had made his way toward the kitchens before Belle could finish uttering merci. She chuckled as he vanished from view; something about him reminded her of Papa. Ansel was bumbling and well-meaning to the point of being a bit preposterous, and it always managed to amuse her. Papa could behave in much the same way. God, how she missed him.

Trying to shake the sombering thought from her mind, she too made her way down to the kitchens.

Belle couldn't deny it; the kitchens were one of her favorite places in the castle, along with the library. Within the place, there was always a bustle of activity. You could always count on at least a few servants being there, and it was the one place in her lavish prison that didn't make her feel incredibly isolated and lost.

Something delicious was being fried up on the stove, and Belle felt her mouth watering as she registered the scent of bacon and her favorite breakfast food: strawberry crepes. It was clear that she would be especially pampered today. Belle had to admit that she could certainly live with the food and the castle if the...Adam was gone and her Papa was here instead. Then, it would have been perfect.

Noticing her entrance, a gentle clinking began as a near-dozen teacups hopped their way over to her, all chattering loudly over each other and dancing around her feet as they reached her. Bending down to say hello, Belle beamed at them. These were Mrs. Pott's children, cheery little things that were always clamoring for her to tell a story or act out a scene from one of her favorite reads.

In truth, she had always loved children. Belle admired the vastness of their imaginations and how they weren't yet old enough to feel the staggering weight of social rules. How she wished that everyone could have the light heart and mind of a child. In her village, she hadn't had much opportunity to interact with the children there; their parents were often suspicious of her. Belle remembered, with strong annoyance, one father dragging his daughter away from her because Belle had been teaching her how to read her own name. How boorish and narrow-minded men could be.

The teacup children were especially excited today. Word had gotten out about Belle's attempted escape, and their questions poured out endlessly. Had she and the Master gotten into a fight? Had she fought wolves with nothing but her hands? Was she going to stay? Would she keep telling them stories?

Belle tried to answer each patiently, but some questions she honestly didn't have an answer to. Especially those concerning Adam. No, she hadn't yet seen him this morning. She wasn't sure if they would still fight all the time. When Mrs. Potts arrived and shushed her gaggle of little ones, Belle was somewhat relieved. She loved the children, but goodness, could they wear you out.

Taking her seat alone at the gigantic dining table, Belle thanked the dishes for the food and dug in. It tasted like nectar from the heavens; how much time had passed since her last meal? Surely years, her stomach groaned. She barely paused to think before asking for seconds. Death had nearly grasped her last night-she would feast today.

"Ah, mademoiselle, so nice to see you are still with us," came a familiar voice just as Belle had dabbed her face clean of strawberry juice. "Yes, Lumiere, here I remain." Belle answered somewhat resignedly. Hopping onto the table, Cogsworth struggling behind, Lumiere cast her a look of mock offense. "You sadden me, cherie! Does your tone imply that you stay unwillingly? I may collapse in despair!" Swooning dramatically, he fell flat across her thankfully clean plate.

Giggling, Belle grasped him round the middle and set him upright again. "Oh, Lumiere, you make me laugh. If only your master was half as amiable." The candelabra grinned at the same time that Cogsworth cast his eyes to the heavens in frustration. "The Master can be amiable, Miss, when given the chance."

"I have seen precious little proof, I fear." Belle took a sip of her drink to hide her frown. That was one thing she disliked about Cogsworth; he was always trying to paint a shining picture of Adam. Why did he try so hard? It wasn't changing her opinion at all, it just made her annoyed with the odd little clockwork man.

Sensing the sudden tension in the air, Lumiere nudged his companion roughly, muttering something like "not making things any better" and shooting Belle a hasty smile. "We will leave you in peace, mademoiselle. Enjoy the rest of your day." Bowing, both the candelabra and the clock left Belle to herself. She could hear them arguing in fervent whispers as they got farther away, and it intrigued her.

Whatever those two fought about was one of the many mysteries of this place.

Unbidden, a thought reentered her mind; the glowing rose as it hung suspended under a glass case. Why in the world had it done that? A cut rose living freely in the air, not relying on water to keep it fresh. Well, she recalled, it had been missing quite a few petals. But still...why? She would have examined it for much longer had Adam not interrupted her in his terrifying fury.

There had been something so desolate about the West Wing. Yes, the whole castle had an air of obvious disrepair, but the West Wing had appeared to be absolutely destroyed. Belle wondered what could have done such damage. Was it the place where Adam did all of his serious tantrum-throwing? And who had been the young man in the desecrated portrait?

The questions swam before her eyes, and Belle put her hands to her temples. She wished she could find the answers in a book, but something told her that what was going on here was unlike that had ever happened before. This would all be so much easier if Adam wasn't so bent on being ill-tempered and churlish all the time. If she could only hold a civilized conversation with this castle's master, perhaps she could have her questions resolved.

Belle doubted that would ever happen.

Her dishes had long since scurried off once they saw that she'd had her fill of breakfast, and Belle found herself completely alone once more. Getting to her feet, she again began to wander the castle, moving aimlessly through corridor after empty corridor with nothing but her raging thoughts for company.

Ultimately ending up in the library, Belle sank into her favorite armchair. She took a few breaths to steady herself before closing her eyes. This would never end, would it? Her life would be this way from now until she died. Making pleasant conversation with objects that should have been inanimate, constantly wary of Adam. She was a prisoner, no matter how nice the servants were to her. She was still an outcast. More than ever, Belle felt so terribly alone.

It took her a few moments to calm down, and she found herself growing drowsy. One thought weighed down her heart like a stone as she sank back into sleep: nothing has changed.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hi, hi, hi there! I'm so sorry for my long, lonely absence. I haven't had true access to a computer in what feels like forever. But rest assured, I've got access now and will continue to have access for a long time! So that means this chapter coming up AND the other chapter I have half-finished! TSB is coming back in FORCE, my loves. Thank you for taking time to read it! It means a ton to me. Hope to see you guys again really soon!_

_Sweetly,_

_SQS_

_"Qui n'avance pas, recule"_ : Who does not move forward, recedes.

Two weeks passed in the same manner that they had before Belle had attempted to run away. Soon Belle realized that she had been living in the castle for a spot close to two months, and it made her chest feel tight. The cold weather beat down upon her prison harder than ever, and soon she took to sleeping in the library, even taking her meals there. She only ventured out to wash, and the castle's servants all grew terribly concerned for her.

The library was the one place she had asked never to be disturbed, but they couldn't help but check in. The Belle that had come to the castle-the vivacious, constantly curious, stubborn Belle-was fading. She was lethargic and said little. Belle wilted just as the rose did, and the servants knew action had to be taken at once.

Mrs. Potts was the first to act. She cornered the Master (or perhaps cornered was an inappropriate word, as she stood barely six inches tall and he well over six feet) one day just as fresh snow was beginning to fall around the castle's shoulders. He heard her clinking behind to keep up with his pace and slowed, a questioning look on his face. "Master," she puffed, quite out of breath, "I must speak with you. It concerns our guest."

Attention captured, he stood still and faced her. "Does she remain hidden away?" "Have you seen her wandering these halls recently, Master?" Mrs. Potts began carefully. Adam shook his great furry head. "No, not for some time. She's taken to the library, hasn't she?" The teapot nodded. "_How do I get her to come out?_" Suddenly looking very unnerved, Adam ran one paw through his mane.

"She must be starved for company, Master. Imagine how isolated she feels, with not a flesh and blood creature around but herself." Mrs. Potts cast her eyes to the ground, feeling a genuine pang of sadness for the girl. Letting out a rushed half-sigh, half-growl, Adam fidgeted where he stood. "My birthday draws close, and with it, our doom. You must tell me how to interact with her, I beg you."

Surprised, Mrs. Potts thought for a moment. "Try and speak to her about something she enjoys. If she won't leave the library, then you must go to her, Master." "But the last time I tried, she _shouted_ at me! Twice!" His expression turned brooding. Mrs. Potts struggled not to sigh, exercising the patience that came with raising nine children.

"It will be difficult at first, Master. The girl is terribly lonely and upset. But have faith, and she may warm to you."

Adam felt the same feeling of dread and apprehension rise in him, a feeling that always approached when he considered speaking to the girl. Mrs. Potts was fixing him with a firm glance, one that held no room for him to disagree. Though his nerves strained against it, he knew what he had to do. If he ever wanted to be human again, he had to make the strange, pretty girl fall in love with him.

What an undertaking this would be.

"I will go to her at once," he murmured brusquely, giving his servant a nod before heading opposite of the direction he had been walking in. Too soon the grand doors of the library loomed before him, much taller than even his hulking frame.

How he wished that this didn't have to be so difficult. Why had he waited so long? _It's because you're used to getting everything handed to you, and the girl refuses to be a similar prize,_ a cruel voice in the back of his head stated. Adam knew this to be true; he had never had to struggle for anything, and that was most likely why he wasn't trying with the girl anymore.

That, and he wasn't sure how to treat her after she had tried to escape. He had gone after her, of course, desperate to make her stay so that he at least had a chance to break his spell. Sparing no thought for strategy or clever words, he had taken off, paws thudding heavily against the early season snow.

He was unsure of what he had planned to say if he had simply found her riding away from his castle, facing no peril. In a way, fending off wolves had been easier. Then had come searing pain as the wolves had turned on him, blood dripping down his limb, a strange dream...then the girl asking him to get to his feet, and a long ride back to the castle.

Why had she come back? Why had she lingered by his side, cleaned his wound, held her ground when he bellowed at her?

She was so headstrong. Place that girl next to a dozen bulls, and she would make them all look weak and quivering. But she could also be gentle and sweet; often he could find her bent down, speaking to the teacup children, or holding them high over her head as they shrieked with delight. The servants all seemed to adore her. She was all they talked about.

The girl was so warm and open to them, so why did she despise him so much? Had that brief show of kindness meant nothing?

The doors of the library suddenly seemed like the gates to an impenetrable fortress. Adam forced himself to raise an arm and knock, knuckles rapping thrice against peeling paint. "Begone." Came the girl's voice immediately.

Bristling, Adam ignored her and shouldered the door open, letting himself into the massive room that had become the girl's hideaway. It was no stretch to say that this was one of the grandest rooms in the castle; the girl had picked one exquisite place to stay hidden. "Are you deaf?" The girl closed in on him, eyes narrowed to slits.

What met his eyes was startling. The girl appeared extremely drawn and pale, a quilt held together around her shoulders with one hand. Her eyes were shadowed with deep purplish marks, and she seemed to have lost weight. Most of all, she looked incredibly small and fragile. Adam could have pitied her for it...if she hadn't been regarding him with the utmost disdain. "I said, begone! You have a whole castle to lurk in, and you choose to come pester me?"

Anger crept its way under his flesh, hot and roiling. How dare she be so difficult? He was merely checking in on her and this was how she chose to act?! With a great show of restraint, Adam kept his tone neutral. "I...merely wanted to see how you were. My servants tell me that you haven't left this room in some time." The girl huffed. "And why does this concern _you_?"

Heavens above. He would never be human again, would he? Not when every time he spoke to her he felt like ripping his fur out or running away. Sighing low and long, Adam put his face in his paw. _I will have patience. I will keep my temper._ "You are my guest, are you not? I require you to be happy here," he said gruffly.

"'_Guest?'_ Surely you aren't serious." She cast him a look dripping in fury. "I am only here because my father would have _died_ in the depths of your dungeons! You can't for a moment think that I'm happy here. You separated me from the only family I have left." Blinking fiercely, she turned her face away from him.

Realizing that she was near the point of tears, Adam grew all the more uncomfortable. Why were young women so emotional? Why couldn't they all be as wise and as kind as Mrs. Potts? If this girl behaved similarly to other women his age, he had no reason to disprove the theory that their moods came and went with the shut of a door.

This would need a delicate approach if he was to come out of this with a positive response from her. He had never been one for delicacy; if he were to be described as a tool, certainly he would be a hammer and not a pick. Lumiere had drilled into him several times the importance of speaking to a lady in a kind manner. Adam tried to channel that now, praying that he wouldn't somehow drive the girl further away.

"You saved my life a fortnight ago, did you not? I've scarcely seen you since then. I just wanted to see, with my own eyes, if you were well."

The girl said nothing at first, slowly turning toward him again. "You didn't come here to shout at me? Or demand I eat dinner with you again?" She wouldn't look him in the eye, and it struck him for the first time that perhaps she was truly afraid of him. She had always seemed as fierce as a lion, but there was something worn about her now. Perhaps her stubborn, vehement personality was a farce.

Adam knew a lot about false behavior for the sake of self-preservation.

Knowing the correct answer could hold his old life in the balance, he shook his head. His nerves were stronger than ever. They had never spoken to one another like this before-where would it lead? "There is no underlying malice to this visit. You just seemed as if you could use company," he attempted.

Belle felt utterly perplexed. What was this sudden shift in attitude? She rarely heard his voice when it wasn't raised. It was peculiar, but not unpleasant. If they could keep speaking like this, with no yelling or bitter words flung about, then perhaps having him invading her space wouldn't be so arduous.

"You wish to give me...company?" She asked tentatively. He nodded once, looking immensely uncomfortable about it. His body language and his affirmation were as different as land and sea, but at this point, Belle decided to overlook it. Why had he decided to come to her so calmly? She felt her curiosity blazing all over again.

Maybe receiving a blow to the head had altered him for the better.

"Why don't we take leave of the library?" Adam asked, straightening. Belle hadn't noticed that he'd had to bend down slightly to speak to her. He truly was towering. "You've been holed away here for several days now. Let us change the scenery." He turned his back quickly, opening the door and almost passing through it first.

Seeming to freeze in place and remember something, Adam took a step to the side, still holding the door ajar. Belle stood there dumbly for a moment before realizing what he was doing; he was holding the door for her. She blinked, somewhat shocked, before shuffling forward and passing through the entryway. "Er, thank you," she mumbled.

He grunted a response and followed. Feeling a bit nervous with his hulking form right behind her, Belle took a few steps into the hall before facing him again. What an odd duo they made-a small, saddened girl huddled in a quilt next to a huge animal on hind legs, wearing trousers but no shirt.

"Well...where shall we go?" Adam inquired, peering down at his little captive. With the whole castle before them, the two made their choice and set off, both more than a little unsure.

Unbeknownst to either party, it would be the start of a wonderful friendship.


End file.
